Gospel Story Finder

Jimena climbed into the car and buckled her seat belt. She and her parents were on their way to the temple. This would be her first time doing temple baptisms. Papi was going to baptize her for some of their ancestors. Jimena couldn’t wait!
But then Jimena thought of something that made her feel panicky inside. “Papi,” she said, “what about my pump?”
Jimena had type 1 diabetes. To stay healthy, she always wore a small device called an insulin pump to help control the sugar levels in her blood. If she went for too long without wearing it, she felt sick.
“Will they let me wear it inside the temple?” Jimena asked. Her heart was beating fast. “What about when I get in the water?”
“It will be OK,” said Papi. “You can wear your pump until you get in the water. Then Mamá can help you put it back on as soon as you get out.”
Mamá nodded. “And if you start to feel sick while you are doing baptisms, just tell Papi and you can stop.” Mamá squeezed her hand. “We’ll be with you the whole time.”
“OK,” said Jimena. She still felt nervous. But Mamá and Papi had helped her feel a little better.
When they arrived, Jimena held Mamá and Papi’s hands as they walked toward the temple doors. As soon as she stepped inside, Jimena felt a warm, comforting feeling. She knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that Heavenly Father would help her, even though she was nervous. Everything would be OK, just like Papi said.
Jimena changed into white clothes. Then Mamá helped Jimena take off her pump. “It will only be for a few minutes,” Mamá said. She gave Jimena a hug.
Jimena stepped into the water. Papi was waiting for her. He reached out his hand and helped her down the stairs.
Papi said the baptism prayer and dipped Jimena under the water. When she came back up, Jimena smiled. Then they did a few more baptisms.
“Are you feeling OK?” Papi whispered in her ear.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
Papi baptized her for a few more people. “Can you do more?” he asked again.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
After the last baptism, Mamá helped Jimena put on her pump and checked Jimena’s blood sugar. Mamá smiled. It was normal! It was as if Jimena hadn’t taken off her pump at all.
Next they went into a smaller room. Papi placed his hands on Jimena’s head. He confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the people who had died that she had been baptized for. Now her ancestors could choose to join Jesus Christ’s Church!
At home evening the next week, Jimena and her parents talked about their temple trip. “The temple is the house of the Lord,” said Papi. “When we go, we can have miracles in our lives.”
“What kind of miracles?” asked Jimena’s little brother, Pablo.
“I was nervous to take off my insulin pump to get in the water,” said Jimena. “But while I was doing baptisms, I didn’t even feel sick. It was a miracle!” Jimena smiled. “And even though I was scared, the Holy Ghost helped me feel calm. That was a miracle too.”

Returning to college to begin my sophomore year, I found myself the only active member of the Church at my school. In my freshman year of college, there were two of us who were. The summer after my freshman year, the other LDS student left on a mission, and that fall no new LDS students showed up in the incoming freshman class. I was alone.
With no other LDS students near me and my family thousands of miles away, feelings of loneliness and uncertainty crept into my life. I began to doubt and question the Church and myself. I still knew that the Church was true, but I was full of questions. If Heavenly Father really loved His children, why was I the only one out of so many to have the gift of the Book of Mormon? Why did only one person out of an entire college believe in the restored gospel?
I still went to church every week. I read the Book of Mormon every night and prayed every morning and night. That’s what made it so hard. I was trying to do everything right, yet I still felt like Heavenly Father was not answering my prayers, and I still felt fear and doubt. All I needed was a spiritual boost. I wasn’t looking for a huge sign or miracle. I just wanted to feel the Spirit in the same strong way that I had previously felt it.
So many times in my past I had answers to prayers, experiences in the temple, or moments reading the scriptures when I had felt the Spirit so strongly—moments when my testimony of the Church was confirmed. All I needed was to feel that same Spirit again. I prayed frequently, pleading with my Heavenly Father to let me know again, let me feel again, let me have a reason to throw away all my doubts.
I never did have an “aha!” moment. I was not brought to tears with convincing feelings of the Spirit. There wasn’t just one clear answer to my prayers. It took time, but over the next weeks and months, as I continued to try to do what was right, I found small answers. A verse in the scriptures, a speaker at a singles conference, and President Hinckley’s words at general conference all helped me to slowly shove out my doubts.
Throughout that semester I learned that I did not always feel the Spirit in the same way. Sometimes I had a strong, warm feeling; sometimes I felt overwhelming joy; but sometimes I just felt okay. I realized that there is strength in remembering previous spiritual experiences. I did not need to have another strong spiritual confirmation of the truthfulness of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I just had to trust in the feelings I had previously.
Hebrews 10:32 says, “Call to remembrance the former days, in which, after ye were illuminated, ye endured a great fight of afflictions.”
I had been “illuminated” by the Spirit before, and with the help of the Spirit I had endured trials before. I had to remember those previous experiences. Satan would like me to forget my earlier testimony-building feelings and experiences, but I can fight his efforts by having faith in myself, in the Church, and in the Spirit that I had felt before.
“Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering” (Heb. 10:23). I now know that even when we do have doubts and fears and it seems like Heavenly Father isn’t answering our prayers, we have to just keep praying. He is always there and always listening.

One day I was having lunch in the Church Administration Building cafeteria with three of my colleagues in the Seventy. While we were eating, President Russell M. Nelson came to our table with his bowl of soup and said, “May I join you?”
“Of course, President!” we all said. Who wouldn’t want to have lunch with the prophet?
While we ate, President Nelson shared a few experiences he has had in the many countries he has visited and talked about people who have inspired him. He was so kind, wise, and generous.
As we finished lunch, I turned to President Nelson and said, “President, I don’t know if I will sit at the same table with you anytime soon. But this evening, I am going to see my wife and children and tell them that I ate lunch with the prophet. I know they will ask me, ‘What did he tell you to tell us?’ President, what would you want me to tell my wife and children?”
President Nelson looked at me for a moment. I was so eager to hear what he had to say! “I have only three words for you,” he said. “Tell your family that I said, ‘Keep the commandments.’”
We have all heard this counsel from President Nelson before, but in that moment, I felt a personal, strong witness that President Nelson is truly the prophet. I thanked him, and later that day I told my family what had happened. Our children later made “Keep the Commandments” stickers and placed them on our refrigerator and mirrors to remind us of what President Nelson said.

By December 1827 there had been several attempts to steal the plates, so Joseph decided to move with Emma to the home of her parents in Harmony Township, Pennsylvania.

When Joseph and Emma arrived, Joseph allowed Isaac Hale, Emma’s father, to heft the plates in a box. Isaac later stated, “I was allowed to feel the weight of the box, and they gave me to understand, that the book of plates was then in the box.” Yet he was unconvinced and dissatisfied with the situation. He told Joseph to either show him the plates or remove them from his house. Joseph hid the plates in the nearby woods until he and Emma moved into their own home on the Hale property.10

1. Did you notice how focused this is? When you’re telling a story, just cut to the chase! Your listeners will appreciate it, and you’ll help them know what to look for as they hear the story.
2. Check out how this sentence sets the stage for the entire story without giving away the ending. That’s classy storytelling.
3. Now that’s a great balance of details-enough to explain the situation but not so many as to distract the listeners from the main point of the story.
“There are many ways bishops and quorum members can help to relieve the suffering and anxiety of the unemployed. 1Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish.2 Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.3
4. In just a couple of sentences, Bishop Edgley captures the essence of brotherhood in a priesthood quorum.
5. By showing how members of the quorum became actively involved, he helps listeners understand that the priesthood is a principle of action. He also gives ideas for how others can help in their quorums.
“On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help.4They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.5
6. See how he points out the blessings that came through the priesthood. There’s not dramatic fanfare or extra detail, but this story shares a powerful message.
7. Bishop Edgley’s closing ties the whole story together and reminds us of the main point of the experience.
“They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis.6 Priesthood quorums can and must make a difference.”7
Bishop Richard C. Edgley, former First Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, “This Is Your Phone Call,” Ensign, May 2009, 54.

During that same trip to Brazil I visited many young women in their homes, desiring to “remember and nourish” them. Some were completely valiant in their testimonies, while others were no longer active in the Church. In each case I asked them if they could recite the Young Women theme. Each one could! Then I asked each one which Young Women value meant the most to her and why. As each girl answered me I felt the Spirit and found at least a spark of faith still alive in those who were no longer attending church. I knew that if someone would remember each of them and love them and nourish that little spark of faith, their light could burn bright again.

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”
Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

One brother who had once been a prisoner of war had to withdraw money from his savings account—money which had been set aside for another special purpose. Then he learned of a pension for Canadian prisoners of war and found that he qualified. In fact, he was awarded the pension retroactively, and the cumulative amount was slightly in excess of the amount he had withdrawn to pay his building assessment.

As a young man, I served a 30-month mission in France, from 1955 to 1958. During the last eight months of my mission, I was called to serve as branch president in Cannes. The Cannes Branch was small, with fewer than 10 active members.
Our mission president informed us that he planned to close the branch shortly if we had no baptisms. Miraculously, three elderly ladies soon requested baptism. After their baptism, one of them moved to Dijon, where there was no branch of the Church, and the other two struggled to remain active in the Church. Nevertheless, these new Church members helped us keep the branch open.

A visit by a Relief Society president to an inactive deaf sister revealed that it hurt the sister too much to go to meetings and never be able to join in the discussion. As the president left that home, she promised the sister that if she would attend her Relief Society meetings she would be included. The president and her entire board learned to sign. Gratitude, satisfaction, and personal enrichment came as the sisters employed this new skill to respond to the need of that one individual.

“It’s not going to work,” I grumbled to Leigh as I looked down at the workbench we were making for Dad’s Father’s Day present. There were bent nails sticking out all over, and the legs were wobbly and crooked.
Jordon, my four-year-old brother, scratched his head. “Are you sure this is what Dad wanted?”
“Something like this,” I muttered.
Jordon looked at the workbench a little longer, then sat on it. It creaked and wobbled, then crumpled into a pile of broken boards.
Jordon jumped up, his mouth open and his eyes big. He looked at me, then at the broken workbench. “It broke, David,” he bleated.
I was about to get mad, but I realized that this was the best thing that could have happened. “Don’t worry, Jordon,” I consoled him. “It wasn’t any good anyway.”
“So what are we going to do?” Leigh demanded. “Father’s Day is tomorrow.”
I shrugged. There just didn’t seem to be anything we could get for Dad. Then a great idea came! “I know!” I shouted, jumping up. “Ever since Mom ran over Dad’s fishing pole last spring, he’s been saying he needed a new one,”
“But we don’t have enough money to buy a fishing pole,” Leigh said.
“We don’t need to buy one,” I said, grinning. “We’ll make him a willow fishing pole. They’re the best kind.”
“Sure,” Leigh said. “Dad’s always telling us how he used to cut himself a willow, put on some fishing line, and catch lots of big fish. He said everybody ought to have a willow pole.”
We raced down the street, past the park, across the school grounds, and into the vacant lot behind the supermarket. There were some tall poplar trees there, and growing out of the trunk of one of the biggest trees were the best willows around. They were really shoots from the poplars, but everyone we knew called them willows.
We cut a long one, chopped off the top, and trimmed off the leaves and twigs. It was a beauty, about ten feet long—just the kind of pole a guy would need to catch a whopper of a fish.
We borrowed some of Dad’s fishing line, one of his hooks, and one of his floaters and got that fishing pole all ready. Then we hid it in the garage.
After church the next day, Mom wanted to have the presents after we ate dinner, but Jordon, Leigh, and I shouted, “No! Presents first!”
“Close your eyes,” Leigh told Dad as I went to the garage to get the willow pole. “It was too big to wrap,” she explained, “Don’t peek.”
I had a hard time getting the pole inside because it was so long. I knocked a lamp shade off the lamp and brushed the magazines off the bookshelf but finally got the willow pole into the kitchen.
“You can open your eyes now,” Leigh said as I pushed the fishing pole into Dad’s hands, banging the light overhead.
“It’s just what you always wanted!” Jordon exclaimed.
“Your very own willow fishing pole,” I added. “You always said they were the very best kind.”
Why, it took Dad’s breath away. He just looked down at the fabulous willow pole and grinned and shook his head. “Well, it sure does look like a fine pole,” he finally managed to say.
“If I had known that you were going to get your dream wish,” Mom said, “I wouldn’t have bought you what I did.”
She left the room and came back with a long package. Dad tore off the paper and ripped open the box. There was another fishing pole. But this was just a store-bought one, not nearly as good as our genuine willow pole. But Dad tried to act happy anyway.
“I could take mine back and get you a couple of white shirts and a tie,” Mom suggested.
“Oh, that’s all right, Vella,” Dad told her. “I’ll keep the store-bought pole—just in case.” He shrugged. “Well, a fisherman like me can always use two poles.”
Dad was really excited. “You know what we’re going to do tomorrow?” he burst out. “I’m getting off work, and we’re going fishing. The whole family!”
Monday was better than Father’s Day. Mom packed a good lunch while Dad and I packed our fishing gear. We had a hard time with the willow pole because it was so long, but we finally managed to tie it on top of the van. Then we were off. We sang songs and listened to Dad tell fish stories about when he was younger and he and Uncle Joe had gone fishing with their willow poles.
When we finally reached the lake, we piled out. “Hey, David,” Dad called, “do you want to carry the willow pole?” He winked.
I sure did want to, but I didn’t think that that would be fair to Dad. “No, Dad. This is your special day. You go ahead and carry the good pole.”
As we walked along the edge of the lake, there were a few people fishing already. All of them noticed Dad’s fabulous willow pole.
“Hey, where’d you get that fancy pole?” a man called out.
“Want to trade?” another man asked with a grin.
Dad gripped the pole, and his cheeks turned red. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything,” he said, shaking his head. “This is my Father’s Day present. A genuine, guaranteed-success willow pole.”
We found ourselves a private spot at the end of the lake, where the pine trees grew tall. Mom and Dad, Jordon, Leigh, and I found a big rock that poked way out into the water to fish from.
“I tell you what, David,” Dad said. “Why don’t you and Leigh try out the willow pole first, and I’ll struggle along with this store-bought one. They’re kind of tricky things.”
Well, I sure did want to try out Dad’s new willow pole, but I knew how much he wanted to use it, so I shook my head. “No, Dad, you’d better be the first to use the willow pole.”
“By all means,” Mom said with a smile. “Let the kids use the store-bought one. You enjoy the willow pole.”
It took a little work getting used to that store-bought pole with all its funny gadgets. I got the line tangled up a few times and hooked Leigh in the pants once and Jordon in the shirt twice, but before noon I had two fish.
At first, Dad didn’t catch anything, but he claimed he was waiting for a big fish to come along. He said he wasn’t going to bother with the little ones.
In the afternoon, Jordon and Leigh took the store-bought pole to another spot, and I slipped up next to Dad as he sat fishing on the rock. All of a sudden there was a little tug on the line. Dad got all stiff and sat up straight. There was another tug and then a huge jerk, and Dad jumped to his feet and started shouting and dancing around.
“It’s a big one, David,” Dad yelled. “That’s a granddaddy fish! Didn’t I always tell you that a willow pole was the best fishing pole in the world?” He shook his head. “Wait until I walk back to the van with this monster. Then we’ll see what they say about my willow pole!”
Dad fought that fish for a long time before he could start pulling it to shore. A couple of times that old fish jumped out of the water, and it was big all right! It was huge!
“Get me the net, David,” Dad ordered.
I raced back to the picnic spot where Mom was resting and grabbed the net. “Dad’s got a big one,” I shouted. “It must be the biggest one in the lake.”
I raced back to Dad with Mom right behind me. Dad was still dancing and pulling and twisting and yelling. I’d never seen him so excited. I handed him the net, and he began pulling that granddaddy fish right up to the rock. We were both looking down into the churning water, just waiting for that big fish to get close enough for Dad to slip the net under him. It got closer and closer, and Dad started to reach out with the net, when suddenly there was a loud crack and then a quick pop. The willow pole had snapped in two!
Dad lunged for the fish, tumbling into the lake head first. He still had the net in his hand, and he began whipping it through the water, hoping to catch that great big granddaddy fish. But it was gone.
“Can we swim too?” Jordon called as he and Leigh came running back. “We’ll even take our shoes off.”
“Just give me the other pole,” Dad gasped. “I’m still going to catch that fish?”
Leigh got a sick look on her face. She took a deep breath and said, “I think Mom got gypped.”
Dad wiped a piece of moss out of the corner of his mouth. “How did she get gypped?”
“Well, Jordon and I were fishing down that way.” She pointed down the shore. “I leaned the pole against a rock. Then Jordon and I went hunting crawdads. We caught one and ran back to show Mom. Jordon tripped on the pole, and I tripped on Jordon, and … and we both fell on the pole. And it’s not unbreakable.”
“Yeah, it broke in three places,” Jordon said.
All of a sudden I heard someone laughing. Mom was sitting on a log, holding her sides and laughing so hard that tears were running down her cheeks. Dad just stood in the water and looked at her.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. “We can get you another willow pole. There are lots more where that one came from.”
Dad started pulling himself out of the water. “David, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“I think that next time,” Mom said, trying to stop laughing, “I’ll get you a couple of white shirts and a tie.”
“Do you think you’ll ever forget this Father’s Day?” I asked.
Dad looked down at me. Suddenly his face turned into one great big smile. “No, David, this is one Father’s Day that I’m going to remember for a long, long time.”

“I can fly,” laughed Carlos as he went spiraling into the cool Idaho evening. He landed in the playground sand and rolled like a movie stuntman.
He brushed himself off and ran back to the merry-go-round, but it was spinning too fast to get back on. The four of us, all college roommates, had the thing moving so fast that I was afraid it would spin off its braces and take flight. I guessed we’d break out of the earth’s gravitational pull somewhere near Boise, and I’d never get home for Christmas.
“Is there a point to this?” I yelled at Dave, who was leading our family home evening activity that night.
“Yep. And remember, I buy pizza for whoever stays on the longest,” he called from his position in the middle of the twirling merry-go-round.
Our roommate Brad, however, was standing near the edge of the contraption, and I could see his grip was not that secure. From the ground Carlos saw too and began spinning us until we were moving at particle-accelerator velocity. Finally, Brad slipped and was sucked off like he’d just opened the door of a flying 747. He crashed right into Carlos. The two of them landed on the sand in an awkward heap.
“Okay, I win,” I yelled. “Now stop this thing before I throw up.”
We eventually slowed the ride, and Dave gathered us on one of the park benches to give us his lesson.
“Anyone know why I put us through this merry-go-round exercise tonight?” he asked.
“Mental instability?” Brad guessed.
“A sadistic streak?” I asked. My world was still spinning.
“Thanks, but wrong. Did you notice why Carlos and Brad flew off?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, because you took the middle,” said Brad.
“Actually, there was room for all of us,” Dave added.
“Yeah, but it’s not as wild a ride in the middle,” I added.
“True,” said Dave, “there are greater risks on the outside—which is my point tonight. It’s safer when we are in the center—on the merry-go-round and in the Church.
“You’ll find that when you move away from the teachings of the Savior and the prophets, you find yourself taking risks you know you shouldn’t. And then you can suddenly find yourself far away from the Church. And it can be really hard to get back on the ride again once you’re off. Right, Carlos?”
Carlos nodded and brushed a few flecks of sand off his jacket.
Dave opened his scriptures and read from Moroni 10:32 [Moro. 10:32]. “Yea, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ; and if by the grace of God ye are perfect in Christ, ye can in nowise deny the power of God.”
Dave closed the scriptures. “Being a member of the Church is the greatest blessing in the world,” he said. “This scripture reminds us that if we come unto Christ and do all He has asked of us, we won’t be led astray. And if we stay centered on Him, following the teachings of the Church and the prophets, we won’t be tempted to take the risks that will throw us off the path that leads home.”
I have never forgotten Dave’s lesson. Every year the world seems to move faster and the distractions and temptations are greater, but I know if I stay centered I will avoid the greatest risks.
As Dave reminded me, by staying close to Christ I can overcome anything.

Later he served in the Ecuador Guayaquil Mission. Just three months into his mission, while serving as branch president in the town of Jipijapa, he mourned with branch members and others after an 11-year-old boy drowned while participating in a Church activity.
As he pleaded with Heavenly Father in the weeks and months that followed, he gained an unshakable testimony of the plan of salvation. He also witnessed the Lord’s compassion as others in the community embraced the gospel. Together they came to understand the sacred nature of life and the power of the Lord’s grace.

As a 17-year-old, I enlisted in the United States Navy and attended boot camp in San Diego, California. For the first three weeks, one felt as though the navy were trying to kill rather than train him on how to stay alive.

I shall ever remember the first Sunday at San Diego. The chief petty officer said to us, “Today everybody goes to church.” We then lined up in formation on the drill ground. The petty officer shouted, “All of you who are Catholics—you meet in Camp Decatur. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A large number marched out. He then said, “All of you who are of the Jewish faith—you meet in Camp Henry. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A smaller contingent moved out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants meet in the theaters in Camp Farragut. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three o’clock!”

There flashed through my mind the thought, Monson, you’re not Catholic. You’re not Jewish. You’re not a Protestant. I elected to stand fast. It seemed as though hundreds of men marched by me. Then I heard the sweetest words which the petty officer ever uttered in my presence. He said, “And what do you men call yourselves?” He used the plural—men. This was the first time I knew that anyone else was standing behind me on that drill ground. In unison we said, “We’re Mormons.” He scratched his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face, and said, “Well, go and find somewhere to meet—and don’t come back until three o’clock.” We marched away. One could almost count cadence to the rhyme learned in Primary:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm,
And dare to make it known.

A friend—we will call him John—shared what can happen when we see another’s less visible need: “A sister in my ward attempted suicide. After two months, I discovered no one in my quorum had approached her husband to address this traumatic experience. Sadly, I had not acted either. Finally, I asked the husband to lunch. He was a shy man, often reserved. And yet when I said, ‘Your wife attempted suicide. That must be overwhelming for you. Do you want to talk about it?’ he openly wept. We had a tender and intimate conversation and developed a remarkable closeness and trust within minutes.”
John added, “I think our tendency is just to bring brownies rather than figure out how to walk into that moment with honesty and love.”

“No school today!” came the magic words from the radio.
Remembering last night’s house-shaking blizzard, Dave thought that a holiday from school was a beautiful bonus.
“I wish Dad weren’t out of town,” said Mother, briskly beating pancake batter. “Something always happens when he’s gone.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. Dave peered out. He could hardly tell where the road was. It looked like a white river with waves whipped up by the wind.
“Being snowed in isn’t so bad,” he said happily. “Nothing can get through, not even a school bus.”
During breakfast, the radio broadcast several weather-related stories: A forty-mile-an-hour wind had roared all night, blowing three feet of snow into massive drifts. Semitrailers had jackknifed, and cars and buses had slid into ditches. Some snow-plows were still stuck on major highways. “The worst of the storm is over,” the announcer concluded, “but some areas might not be plowed out until tomorrow.”
The phone rang. It was Dave’s best friend, Tim. “Tough about school, huh? Think we can handle it?”
“Maybe if we get together for moral support,” Dave replied.
“Glad to help a buddy out,” Tim said cheerfully. “Be right over.”
Tim lived only two blocks away, but by the time he got to Dave’s house, he was covered with snow. “The Abominable Snowman himself!” he laughed.
“I know a perfect place to build a snow cave-fort,” Dave suggested, pulling on his ski jacket, snow bib, boots, hat, and mittens. He felt as if he was outfitting for a polar expedition.
“Snow’s sticky enough,” agreed Tim.
“Build it where I can see you from the house,” Mother warned. “And be careful.”
“Sure,” the boys said in unison.
Outside, the wind punched them in the face, and snowflakes as thick as feathers swirled around them. Sinking deep into the drifts, they plodded toward the garage, where Dave pointed to a high snowbank.
“It is perfect!” Tim said. The giant snowbank blocked the wind and had plenty of raw material for their cave-fort. They set to work tunneling into the base of the big drift, shoveling out the snow and packing the sides as they dug.
Two houses away their friends Jeff and Brian were piling up snowballs.
“We just have to get our fort done before they start a snowball fight!” Tim exclaimed. They worked all morning, then stopped only for lunch and to change their wet mittens.
“How’s your fort coming along?” Mother asked, dishing up tomato soup and handing them grilled cheese sandwiches.
“It’s the best ever,” bragged Tim. “It’s the biggest and highest—”
“And strongest, I hope,” Mother put in, looking worried.
“We’ll find out in the snowball showdown!” replied Tim, gulping down his soup.
When they went out again, they saw that Jeff and Brian had started to build a fort too. Dave wondered how much ammunition they had stockpiled.
Dave and Tim’s fort was shaping up. They widened the entrance, enlarged the inside, and sloshed water onto the sides to ice them firm. Finally, pushing out a big snow chunk, Dave grunted, “We’re just about done.”
“If you clear the doorway,” said Tim, “I can finish up inside.”
Dave crawled out and started shoveling out the entrance. He looked at the fort looming high above him. It seemed strangely quiet. The wind had died to a whisper. The snow had stopped. Nothing moved. It was like a movie that had stopped, frozen in one frame. He shivered.
Then, without a sound, the snow roof slowly slid inward, collapsing the fort and burying Tim. This can’t be happening! Dave agonized, and he flew at the crumpled white mound with his shovel, flailing away furiously. “Tim! Tim!” he yelled. But there was no sound. “Cave-in!” he shouted to Jeff and Brian, and they came running with shovels. “Tim’s under there!”
Dave’s mother came running out of the house. “I called an ambulance, but nothing can get through. The roads are still blocked!” She frantically started scooping at the snow pile with her bare hands.
Dave’s heart sank. “Please, God,” he murmured desperately, “help Tim.” Shoveling furiously again, he shouted, “Hang on, Tim! We’ll get you out!” Finally, his breath coming in great gasps, Dave stopped shoveling. Looking at the huge pile of snow and at the very little that they had uncovered, a wave of despair swept over him.
Suddenly a story flashed through his mind, one that he’d read long ago. It was about an avalanche, a boy who was buried, and his friend who kept poking a broom handle deep into the drifts until he found him.
Dave tore off his mittens. He wanted to feel with his fingertips. Plunging his arm deep into the snow, he jabbed down in different places, calling, “Tim! We’re coming, Tim!” over and over. Tim had to know that help was on the way, so that he could hold out longer.
I must hurry, Dave told himself. There’s so much snow to cover. Am I reaching deep enough? Again and again he thrust his arms into the snow—reaching, reaching.
Suddenly he thought that he felt something way down deep. Was he imagining it? His arm pushed through the snow again. There was something there! “Dig here!” he yelled.
The diggers scooped out snow with their shovels and then with their hands until they had uncovered Tim’s arm, hanging limp. Quickly they uncovered Tim’s head. His face was ashen, but he opened his eyes and mumbled something. In just minutes he was freed, carried into the house, stripped of his wet clothes, and wrapped in blankets.
It wasn’t until then that Dave was conscious of his own red, throbbing hands. He soaked them in tepid water, but they hurt for a long time afterward. A small price to pay, he thought.
Meanwhile, everything around him was a blur … people coming, Tim’s mother talking to the doctor on the phone: “He just wants to sleep,” she was saying, her voice shaky. Dave’s thoughts focused again when she told him, “The doctor wants us to question Tim. If he makes sense, he’s probably all right.”
Dave went with her into Tim’s bedroom. Tim’s face was still pale, but he was breathing steadily. His eyes were closed. “Tim?” Dave asked softly.
Tim opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile. “You saved my life.” His eyes closed again.
Dave swallowed hard. “Tim, did you hear me calling your name?”
Tim shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Not even the yelling?” asked Dave.
Tim’s voice was low. “I just kept thinking, ‘Don’t panic. It uses up more oxygen.’” Then he fell asleep.
He makes sense, all right, Dave thought, relieved.
Tim’s mother turned to Dave. “You’re a hero,” she said, her voice soft with tears.
But Dave knew that he couldn’t take all the credit. It was a miracle. It had to be. Why else would he have remembered that long-ago story? Why else was he able to find Tim in time? God was looking out for us, Dave thought. Miracles are never a one-man show.

Although I was disappointed by Brother Kelly’s answer, he spoke the truth. Had I spent high school dating only one person, I would have missed out on meeting people who helped prepare me to recognize my husband when I met him years later. No wonder I couldn’t know the answer to my secret question. Some of my classmates married old friends, but I didn’t. At age 16, I was nine years away from meeting my future spouse!
In the years following high school, I dated a few men seriously until the Holy Ghost confirmed that “the appropriate time” and person had come into my life. I’m grateful I waited for the best time to pursue exclusive relationships and received all I’d hoped for: a sense of belonging in a marriage that could last for eternity, and a confirmation that Heavenly Father was happy with my decision.

Jai attends Robina State High on the Gold Coast, a school of approximately 1,500 students. He is very involved in his school community.
Recently, Jai was appointed to the position of school captain for the 2023 school year.
“There were 10 candidates running for school captain this year,” Jai says.
“The selection process consisted of a popular vote after delivering a speech to the school, a written application detailing our prior leadership experience, school community involvement, and then, finally, an interview with the principal.”
“During my senior school years,” he continues, “I didn’t necessarily aspire to be the school captain. However, I have always been involved in different leadership roles and community service, such as Kokoda Challenge, Lions Club Australia, Relay for Life, and debating. When my final year of high school approached, I thought running for school captain would help me continue my efforts to be involved in our school community.”
Jai is quite the musician, another of his many talents. He’s been playing the piano since the age of nine and is an extremely accomplished pianist.
On Sundays he is very often found at the piano playing for his congregation and at musical events held by the local faith community. Now, he’s being tutored to play the pipe organ at the Mudgeeraba meetinghouse. Jai also plays the saxophone in the Robina State High School Concert and Jazz Band.
Asked if he thought his experiences as a member of the Church helped him become school captain, Jai replied, “Definitely! Church has been instrumental in helping develop the skills that are required to be an effective leader.”
He added, “Giving talks in Primary, and now speaking regularly in sacrament meetings, has helped build my confidence in public speaking and in writing talks. The many social events at Church, such as dances, conventions, and youth activities, have helped me be able to relate to my peers.”
One of the most important things Jai has learned at Church is the importance of integrity. “I have witnessed this trait in my Church leaders and want to also show that same integrity as a school captain.”
What does Jai have planned? His goal is to become a high school teacher in maths and biology. He also plans to serve a mission.
“The Church principle of setting goals has been part of my life since I was little,” says Jai. “Through family home evening lessons, Primary and Young Men lessons, and now the Children and Youth Program, I have developed a strong testimony of the importance of setting goals. One of my current goals is to serve a mission. Many of my friends have started receiving their mission calls, and watching and helping them prepare has strengthened my desire to fulfil this goal.”

Oh, no! That word jumped off the page at me, and the awareness of everything else in the classroom setting faded away. Our excellent, but no-nonsense, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, I screeched to a stop when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line. With few exceptions, almost any one in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she thundered! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly from her paper with a surprised expression and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly a smile was born and then grew into full bloom as she realized that Connie wasn’t after attention or just trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her part as though nothing unusual had happened.

This story happened in the USA.
Knock, knock.
Maddie ran to the front door and opened it. She smiled when she saw Brother Clayton. He was their family’s ministering brother.
“Hi, Maddie, I’m here to see your mom and dad,” Brother Clayton said.
Mom joined Maddie by the door. “Thanks for coming. Please come in.”
Brother Clayton followed Mom and Maddie into the living room.
Dad set a chair in the middle of the room. “Brother Clayton is here to give your mom and me a priesthood blessing,” he told Maddie.
“Why?” Maddie asked. She knew that people asked for priesthood blessings if they were sick or starting school. But why did Mom and Dad need a blessing?
“You know how our family has been going through a hard time? Dad and I want Heavenly Father’s help and guidance,” Mom said.
Maddie knew that Mom was often stressed. And Dad was worried about money. It had been very hard on the whole family.
“Priesthood blessings aren’t only for when you are sick,” Dad said. “They can also be for when you need comfort or strength.”
“Can I stay and listen?” Maddie asked.
Mom smiled. “Sure. Can you sit quietly? We want to be reverent so we can feel the Holy Ghost.”
Maddie nodded and sat on the couch. Then she folded her arms and closed her eyes. She listened to Brother Clayton give Dad and Mom each a blessing. She felt warm and hopeful as Brother Clayton said loving words from Heavenly Father.
When they were done, Maddie stood up. “Can I have a blessing too?”
“Of course,” Dad said.
Maddie sat in the chair, and Brother Clayton placed his hands on her head. She felt good inside. But she wondered what words Heavenly Father had for her. She knew the problems her family had were big—too big for her to fix.
“Maddie, your Heavenly Father wants you to know that you have the gift of joy,” Brother Clayton said. “He loves you and wants you to be happy. And He wants you to share your happiness with others.”
Maddie listened carefully. She felt peaceful. She might not be able to make the big problems her family was facing go away. But she could help her family be happy.
When Brother Clayton finished, Maddie jumped up from the chair and gave Mom and Dad a big hug. Then she shook Brother Clayton’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.
Later that night, Maddie sat on her bed. She thought about her priesthood blessing. How could she help her family feel happy? She looked around her room at her picture books, stuffed animals, and art supplies.
Then she had an idea. She grabbed some paper, scissors, and crayons. She began to cut the paper into small squares.
Maddie picked up a red crayon. “You can do this!” she wrote on the first paper. On the next she wrote, “You are loved!” Maddie thought of more happy things to write. She kept going until all the papers were filled with happy words.
When she was done, she put the notes around the house—one by the front door, one by the soap next to the sink, and one by the laundry room.
Over the next few days, she smiled when she saw her family reading the notes.
“Thank you for the notes,” Mom said with a big smile. “They make me happy. And you make me happy too!”
Maddie gave her mom a hug. Heavenly Father was helping her use her gift to help her family.
Cut out this note and leave it for your family to find!
You are loved!
Illustrations by Annie Poon